Witch Is Where Clowns Go To Die (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 38)

by Adele Abbott

  “Definitely, but only if you’re sure you’re up to it. When would be a good time?”

  “Why don’t you come over right now?”

  “Now? Okay. Give me your address, and I’ll be straight over.”

  Petunia Primrose’s house was a fifteen-minute drive away. I’d only just set off when the glove compartment opened, and Henry stuck his head out.

  “Are you planning on cleaning this car at the weekend, Jill?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve only had it a few days.”

  “You really should clean it every week if you want to maintain its resale value. Did you look after your previous car?”

  “Err, yeah. Sometimes.”

  “People make the mistake of focussing on the exterior, but it’s just as important to look after the interior.”

  “Absolutely. My sentiments exactly, but I do have a lot on this weekend.”

  “I could valet the interior for you if you wish.”

  “You’d be willing to do that?”

  “Yes, for a small fee.”

  “How small?”

  “Only five pounds. That’s a bargain, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  “Hmm, I’m not sure.”

  “If it’s my qualifications you’re concerned about, I do have references. Would you like to see them?”

  “No, that’s not necessary. Go on, then, you can do it.”

  ***

  I wasn’t sure if the woman who answered the door was Petunia Primrose or not because all the people at the funeral had been dressed in clown costume.

  “Petunia?”

  “No, I’m Hyacinth, Petunia’s sister. Petunia is in the lounge. Would you like to come through?”

  The curtains in the lounge were closed; the only light came from a standard lamp in the corner of the room. Petunia was swaying back and forth in a rocking chair.

  “Would you like me to stay with you, Petunia?” Hyacinth asked.

  “No, thanks. I’d rather speak to Jill alone.”

  “Okay. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

  “Have a seat.” Petunia pointed to the armchair opposite her. “Thanks for coming over so quickly.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Have you spoken to the widows of the other two men who died at NOCA meetings?”

  “Patricia and Charlene? Yes, I have.”

  “Do you really think there’s a possibility of foul play?”

  “I honestly don’t know, but I think it’s important that we at least rule it out.”

  “I totally agree. I’m finding it hard to accept what happened to Freddie.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about your husband?”

  “We were together for twelve years, married for ten of those. It was a second marriage for both of us. Freddie was very different to my first husband, Bernard, God rest his soul. Bernard was a civil servant; he was a kind, generous man, but he wasn’t exactly known for his sense of humour. Two years after Bernard died in a car crash, Freddie and I got together.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “It was fate.” She smiled at the memory. “It was my niece’s birthday, and Freddie had been hired to provide the entertainment. We got talking and just seemed to hit it off; we’ve been together ever since. Most of that time we’ve spent laughing. Freddie made his living from being a clown, but the truth is he never switched off. He just loved to make people laugh; he would have done it even if he hadn’t been paid. Did you ever catch his act, Jill?”

  “No, I’m sorry to say I didn’t.”

  “It’s okay. I won’t ask you to watch his videos. I know you’re afraid of clowns.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Why else would you have dressed in your normal clothes and stayed back from the service yesterday? It’s okay, we all have our phobias.”

  “Err, right. You mentioned on the phone that your husband had been in good health?”

  “That’s right. Freddie was very health conscious. He exercised regularly and ate healthily. He was in great condition for a man of his age.”

  “What about his mental health? Was he under any kind of stress?”

  “Stress? Freddie?” She laughed. “He didn’t know the meaning of the word. He was always happy, always joking. He always looked on the bright side of life. For example, on the day he died, he went out to the car and found he had a flat tyre. I’d have been totally stressed out about something like that, but Freddie just took it in his stride. He said that he’d call a taxi, and he’d get it fixed when he came home. But then Trevor called, and said he’d swing by to give Freddie a lift.”

  “Trevor Hee?”

  “Yes. Such a nice young man. That was the last time I saw Freddie alive.” She began to cry. “I’m sorry, Jill. I don’t think I can do this anymore today.”

  “I understand. Thanks for talking to me.”

  When I left Petunia’s house, Hyacinth was trying to console her sister. I felt bad at having intruded at such a difficult time, but the conversation had certainly given me food for thought.

  Before I got into the car, I called Charlene Vallance.

  “Charlene, it’s Jill Maxwell. I came to see you the other day.”

  “Hi.”

  “Just a quick question, please. You mentioned that Mickey’s car had broken down on the day of the NOCA meeting, but that he’d managed to get a lift with someone.”

  “That’s right. I wish he hadn’t made it to the meeting. He might still be alive.”

  “Who gave him a lift?”

  “Trevor Hee. Why?”

  “Err, no reason. I just wondered. Thanks, Charlene.” I ended the call before she could ask any more questions.

  It was now clear there was one common denominator that linked the three men’s deaths, and that was Trevor Hee. Freddie Primrose and Mickey Vallance had both had car trouble on the day they died, and it had been the gallant Trevor Hee who’d given them a lift to the NOCA meeting. When Randy Seaburn had lost his wallet, it had once again been Trevor Hee who had come to the rescue. This was way too much of a coincidence for my liking. I would need to take a closer look at Mr Hee, but that would have to wait because while I’d been on the phone to Charlene, I’d received a text from Georgie Walpole. She’d just spoken to Margaret Plant who’d told her that I wanted to speak to her. The text said she would be calling into my office that afternoon and that she was hoping to hear good news.

  She was in for a big disappointment.

  ***

  As I approached the office building, I spotted something out of the corner of my eye: Coming out of the window of my office was a cat.

  But it wasn’t Winky.

  I watched the tabby as he made his way down the fire escape. When he got closer to the ground, I could see that he had something tucked into his collar: A twenty-pound note.

  “Hey, you! What are you up to?”

  He jumped. “You shouldn’t go around shouting at people like that. I could have had a heart attack. You witches have no consideration.”

  “What’s that money tucked into your collar?”

  “What’s it got to do with you? Mind your own business.”

  “Actually, it is my business because that’s my office you just came out of.”

  “Oh, right. I didn’t realise.”

  “Did you take that money from my desk?”

  “No, I didn’t. I’m not a thief and I don’t appreciate you insinuating that I am.”

  “Where did the money come from, then?”

  “If you must know, it’s the proceeds of a business transaction.”

  “With Winky, I assume?”

  “That’s right. He and I go way back.”

  “What kind of business transaction?”

  “I don’t suppose it can do any harm to tell you because it’s all done and dusted now. As you can probably tell from my athletic physique, I’m into sports, mainly marathon running. Winky gave me a call at the beginning of the week and offered me som
e cash if I’d test drive his FitCat.”

  “What do you mean, test drive?”

  “He wanted me to wear it while I was doing my training.”

  “Did he now? And how long did you do that for?”

  “I started wearing it on Monday, and I gave it back to him first thing this morning. He didn’t have the cash for me then, so I had to pop back for it just now.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Marti. Everyone knows me as Marti the Marathon.”

  “Right, Marti, thanks for your time.”

  There wasn’t a scarf tied around the door handle, so I let myself into the office.

  “Sorry, Jill. I can’t talk.” Mrs V was busy on the computer. “I’m in the middle of editing the socks video.”

  “No problem. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Winky was lying on the sofa, looking like butter wouldn’t melt.

  “Tell me, Winky, how is it that whenever I come into the office, you’re always lounging around. And yet, somehow, you managed to clock up more steps than I did?”

  “It’s like I said before, I spend most of the day out and about in the city. I get plenty of exercise.”

  “It’s just a coincidence that you’re almost always here when I come in, is it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Interesting. On my way in just now, I got talking to a friend of yours.”

  “Oh?”

  “Now, what was his name? Oh yes, I remember; it was Marti.”

  Winky’s face fell. “I don’t think I know any Martis.”

  “Think harder. Apparently, most people know him as Marti the Marathon.”

  “I—err—sorry, it still doesn’t ring any bells.”

  “That’s rather strange because Marti certainly knows you. In fact, he was just telling me about your little business arrangement. The one where he wore your FitCat during the week and you paid him twenty pounds.”

  “I—err—”

  “It’s no good denying it. The game’s up.” I held out my hand.

  “What’s that for?”

  “The hundred pounds you owe me. That’s the fifty you cheated me out of, and the fifty you owe me for beating your step count.”

  “But I’ve just given Marti twenty pounds.”

  “I thought you didn’t know him. You are a liar and a cheat.”

  “I—err—okay, I do know him, but the whole thing was only a joke.”

  “And very funny it was too. Look, I’m laughing. Ha, ha, ha. Now give me my money.”

  It would be fair to say that Winky wasn’t having the best of weeks. First, he’d had to refund all the payments he’d received through his pigeon dating app. Then, he’d had to pay out on our bet, as well as paying Marti the Marathon his twenty pounds.

  He was now sulking under the sofa. Not that he would get any sympathy from me because he’d brought it all on himself.

  Mrs V popped her head around the door.

  “Jill, Georgina Walpole is here to see you.”

  Oh bum! I really wasn’t looking forward to this meeting.

  “Send her in, Mrs V, would you?”

  “What’s going on, Jill?” Georgie demanded. “I asked Margaret what the situation was with the manuscript, but she said I had to ask you. I hope you have good news for me.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “You must have some leads, though?”

  “None. I’ve hit a brick wall which is why I have to drop the case.”

  “Drop it?”

  “I wouldn’t want to continue to take your money when I know there’s no hope of a positive outcome.”

  “What do you mean, continue to take it? You can’t possibly intend to bill us at all. You’ve done nothing.”

  “I can assure you, Georgie, that—”

  “It’s Ms Walpole to you.” She snapped.

  “Right. I can assure you, Ms Walpole, that I’ve carried out a thorough investigation.”

  “There’s no way we’ll be paying you a single penny. Not only have you produced no results, but because of you, we’ve wasted another two weeks during which time Margaret could have begun her rewrite. It’s going to be at least another year before the book can be published now. This is going to cost us a small fortune. I don’t know how you have the nerve to call yourself a private investigator. You’re just an amateur.” And with that she turned on her heels and stormed out of the room.

  Fortunately, Margaret Plant had told me to submit my invoice directly to her, and had promised that she would pay it herself. She’d even said that she intended to add a small bonus.

  Georgie had no sooner left, than Winky came out from under the sofa.

  “Another satisfied client.” He smirked.

  “Shut it, you. You’re on very thin ice. If you’re not careful, you’ll be looking for a new home.”

  “You’d never throw me out. You couldn’t live without me. By the way, how’s that recruitment drive of yours going? Have you found yourself another private investigator yet? It sounds like you could do with someone who knows what they’re doing.”

  I hadn’t checked my job ad for a few days, so I pulled up the website and logged into my account. So far, there had been only three applications. The first one was a complete no-hoper: The woman had apparently worked for several years as a hygiene inspector, and she somehow thought that qualified her to work as a private investigator. The second applicant was no better: This guy had spent most of his life behind bars; his pitch was that he could be poacher turned gamekeeper. He too went onto the rejection pile. The third applicant looked much more promising. The guy was called Felix Perkins and had, apparently, spent several years in the private investigator arena, during which time he’d had experience of cases of all kinds. He described himself as a self-starter who could make an immediate impact. This guy was definitely worth adding to my shortlist (of one). I would give it a few more days for more applications to come in, and then think about arranging interviews.

  Chapter 24

  It was Saturday morning and I was taking Florence to dance class. Jack had had a phone call the previous night from Tommy Gray, the desk sergeant I’d spoken to when I handed the Scrabble tiles in. Being the kind-hearted and selfless wife that I am, I’d told Jack that he could go bowling with his old friend.

  What? I know he didn’t need my permission, but I granted it anyway.

  Young children have a habit of speaking their minds. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it can be a little embarrassing sometimes.

  “Mummy, look!” Florence tugged at my arm. “Why is that man wobbling around?”

  I could feel the colour rising in my cheeks as I turned to see who she was pointing at. I was desperately hoping that whoever it was hadn’t heard what she’d said. I assumed it would be an old man, unsteady on his feet, or maybe someone the worse for drink.

  It was neither of those.

  Unless I was very much mistaken, the ‘man’ wasn’t actually a man at all. At least, not a human man. The ‘man’ was a number of pixies, standing on each other’s shoulders, under an overcoat. I’d seen exactly the same thing some years ago when a pixie called Colin Wragg had visited my office. Because pixies are so small, it’s impossible for them to move around the human world unnoticed unless they have some kind of disguise. This group were definitely going to have to work on their balancing skills.

  I didn’t see any point in lying to Florence.

  “That’s not a man, darling. It’s pixies. Under that coat, there are probably nine or ten of them, standing on each other’s shoulders. That’s why they’re wobbling around so much.”

  “I hope they don’t fall over, Mummy.”

  “Me too.”

  Donna and I were sitting next to one another in the village hall, watching Florence, Wendy and the rest of their group going through their latest dance routine (which looked remarkably like their previous two routines).

  “This is definitely the business to be in,” I said.
“The woman who runs these classes must be coining it.”

  “Can you dance, Jill?”

  “Me? Yeah, I’m a natural.”

  “Really?”

  “No, I’ve got two left feet. My sister, Kathy, was the dancer in our family. You could barely move in our house for all the medals she brought home.”

  “That reminds me. Did Florence give you the leaflet about the dance exams?”

  “No, I haven’t seen one. Maybe she gave it to Jack. What exams?”

  “They’re in a couple of weeks. They try to get all the girls to take them.” She leaned closer and said in a hushed voice, “It’s just an excuse to charge more money. From what the other parents have told me, no one ever fails them.”

  “That sounds exactly the same as Kathy’s dance class. She got a medal just for showing up.”

  “By the way, Jill, I’ve seen a few sups around the village. I assume they’re staying at your grandmother’s hotel.”

  “Almost certainly. She must be making bank too.”

  “I saw a vampire, standing in the street, drinking a bottle of synthetic blood just now. At least, I hope it was synthetic.”

  “Why couldn’t he have done that in the hotel? I’ll have to have another word with Grandma. On our way here, Florence and I saw a group of pixies.”

  “Pixies? How can they possibly go unnoticed? They’re tiny.”

  “I’ve seen it done before. A bunch of them stand on each other’s shoulders, and then put on an overcoat so it looks like a human man.”

  “That’s clever.”

  “Only if their balancing skills are up to it. The ones I saw this morning were struggling to stay upright.”

  “Oh dear.” She smiled. “Ronnie and I are taking Wendy to my mother’s this afternoon. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it. My mother and I don’t get on particularly well, but Wendy loves her Grandma. What about you, Jill? Have you got anything planned for later?”

  “I promised to teach Florence a new spell.”

  “How are her magic lessons coming along?”

  “Okay, although she gave us a bit of a shock in the week.”